


Practice makes perfect

by Drifting_clouds



Series: The series with no name yet [2]
Category: MotoGP RPF, Motorcycling RPF, Sport RPF
Genre: M/M, Superheroes, random fans - Freeform, screaming kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drifting_clouds/pseuds/Drifting_clouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jorge is pretty sure that dinner and a movie can be considered a date. Of course, this doesn't mean that things are going as planned... also because no one is actually planning anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> So this turned into a series, after all...  
> Not beated but I shall blame my mistakes on the gecko that barely missed landing on my head as I was revising my translation...

When Jorge opens the door of him motorhome, the first thing Aleix shows him is the set of keys dangling from a metal ring around his finger. Grinning, the Spaniard waves the hand in the air and the keys make a soft, musical jingle.

“No Pippa?”

“Mom is taking care of her,” Espargaró shrugs, as he tries to use his height to look past Lorenzo and into his friend’s motorhome “your couch is safe this time.”

Jorge smiles. Yes, his couch is back to squeaky-clean condition after a whole team of cleaners worked on it to remove the layer of dried mud and smelly dog hair that the crazy beagle smeared all over the cushions. The truth is, a new one might have been cheaper (at least judging from the final bill), but the other man doesn’t need to know this part of the story or, knowing him as Lorenzo does, he’ll probably feel compelled to repay the debt. 

Still beaming, Aleix darts a look around before handing him a brown paper bag.

Not knowing what to expect, Jorge frowns slightly and casts his friend a puzzled glance as he carefully takes the bag. Inside there’s a stack of clothes that he recognizes as those he lent Espargaró two weeks before in Silverstone. On top of it, neatly pressed and folded, he can see his t-shirt with the distinctive Yamaha logo, the one he used as the clumsiest excuse ever to try and keep the other man in his motorhome.

“I hope the bag is anonymous enough” Espargaró casts him a secretive little smile as he leans forward to whisper “I wouldn’t want some journalist to speculate about its contents and conclude that you slept with a man…”

Jorge snorts.

“Is Cal giving you stand up comedy lessons, now?”

Aleix bursts out laughing.

“Let me buy you dinner” the Spaniard says suddenly “unless you have something better planned, of course…”

He adds hastily, averting his eyes when Jorge doesn’t answer right away.

“Er no” Lorenzo shakes his head “I mean, okay. Dinner is okay… I don’t have any plans for tonight. So yes, dinner!”

_Smooth Jorge_ , he tells himself, _real smooth. Can’t you act a bit more like a lovestruck teenager?_

Luckily for him, Espargaró remains blissfully clueless as he doesn’t seem to notice his hesitation nor that he has sounded like a bumbling idiot.

“Cool” he just says “come on then, let’s get going!”

***

Jorge was pretty sure they would end up having dinner in one of the paddock restaurants, sharing a crowded table with mechanics, engineers and possibly some other driver, but Aleix only stops to talk to his crew chief before they’re on their way again. Lorenzo frowns as they leave the track and slowly make their way along the road leading to the centre of Misano Adriatico. It is a small, winding road flanked with maize fields where cars, bikes and people come and go literally everywhere. But after the first few baffled glances (the _is-that-or-isn’t-that-him_ that Jorge has learned to dread when he’s dining somewhere or waiting to board a flight at the airport) no one seems to pay attention to them.

Though it is already September, Misano is still packed with people and the _tifosi_ who arrived in town for the motogp race mingle with German families on vacation and bored-looking Russians shopping with all their might. On the seafront, big concrete hotels that look almost mass-produced and restaurants where local kids eat _piadine_ alternate in an endless line. It’s all a bit anonymous and the Spaniard likes that: it is nice for one evening to be just Jorge without the added burden of his surname and the hassles that come with being famous (no privacy whatsoever, always be polite, people taking pictures of him as if he were a curious animal at the zoo). 

Aleix bumps into his shoulder, smiling at him as Jorge is startled back to reality.

“Sorry” he says sheepishly “did you say something?”

Espargaró shrugs.

“That one looks promising” he repeats, pointing a finger at a restaurant on the opposite side of the street. 

The restaurant looks exactly like any other restaurant in Misano, but Jorge doesn’t want to sound spoiled or like a complete killjoy, plus it’s not a sushi place so he just nods before Espargaró has time to decide that he wants to eat raw fish tonight. Head cocked sideways, Aleix casts him another inquisitive glance then he gently places a hand on Jorge’s back and pushes the other man forward.

 _Don’t read too much into this, Jorge,_ the Spaniard tells himself, _you’ve seen him do the same with Pol countless of times._

As Jorge expected, the décor inside is nothing to write home about, but there is a big terrace overlooking the beach that belongs almost completely to themselves. The owner of the place is a stout, cheerful lady marching around the room like a resolute sea captain on a well-oiled ship. She welcomes them in a curious mix of languages as she tries to determine where they come from, beaming as they answer in Italian and leading them to a quiet table outside. 

They order pizzas from the huge menu, chatting idly about motogp gossip (and Lord only knows if there isn’t plenty of that) as they wait for the food to arrive. Jorge enquires about the deal with Forward and Aleix just smiles and says that everything will be revealed in due time, but the Spaniard has seen Giovanni Cuzari hang around the other man too much not to know that Albert must have worked his magic and reached some kind of agreement. The Adriatic sea has turned a delicate mint green as the sun is about to disappear below the horizon, and the owner returns with their orders, setting plates and drinks in front of them with a flourish and a hearty buon appetito.

More people arrive on the terrace and Aleix takes advantage of the diversion to snatch a slice of pizza from Jorge’s plate.

“Hey!”

“Come on, don’t be selfish! At least this way we can try different things” he chuckles before taking another bite “damn, I like your pizza! Excellent choice!”

“It’s very good, I agree, but you’re still a thief…”

“Stop whining… you sound like Vale complaining about tyres!”

“That is so not true” Jorge laughs, “stop that!”

He huffs, glaring at Aleix in mock frustration as he slaps the hand that is once again creeping toward his plate.

“Would you steal food from Pedrosa?”

“Why would I possibly have dinner with Dani?” Espargaró asks with a small, amused grin “It’s not with him that I slept.”

Jorge takes a sharp breath and looks at his fellow Spaniard. Espargaró has not stopped smiling, but he’s looking at him keenly now, as if he wants to add something. Or as if he expects Lorenzo to do the talking. _I could tell him_ , Jorge realizes suddenly, I could tell him that I have a crush on him. It would be such a relief and even if Aleix wasn’t interested (which is still very much a possibility), the Spaniard knows that his friend will not make fun of his feelings nor use the confession against him. Taking a deep breath, Jorge is about to open his mouth when a sudden, furtive movement catches his eye. 

_No. Just NO._

The fan is shuffling towards them with the awkward expression of someone who is going to stammer and look like a fool. It is a young girl, nervously clutching at scrap of paper and Jorge curses her diabolically perfect timing. Following his line of sight, Espargaró turns briefly to look at the other man and rolls his eyes at the interference.

“Excuse me…” the girl begins as she reaches their table.

 _At least she doesn’t sound like a four years old kid_ , muses the Spaniard as he plasters a big, fake smile on his face and gets ready to answer: _yes, I’m Jorge Lorenzo, by all means let’s take a picture together like you didn’t just ruin a perfect moment!_

“Are you Aleix Espargaró?”

Aleix, who felt he would not be part of the conversation and therefore has taken a sip of Coke, almost chokes on his drink and turns to look at Jorge, as if waiting for confirmation.

“Yes, he is” Jorge tells her.

“Er, yes, could you, I mean. Could you sign me this?”

The Spaniard casts her an incredulous look then he turns once again to glance at his friend. Lorenzo tries to stop chuckling and gently kicks his leg under the table in encouragement. It’s quite obvious that Aleix is thinking _girl, don’t you see who is sitting beside me?_ which is actually very sweet, but Jorge wishes to remain anonymous at least for the rest of the evening, so he kicks the other man once again (a lot harder this time) to shut him up before that thought can be voiced out loud.

“Ow” Espargaró glares at him, bending to rub his shin under the table “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Sign the autograph for the young lady, will you?”

“Thanks” 

The girl casts him a grateful look then her face suddenly lights up.

_Oh please don’t. Please, I need you to remain totally clueless for just a few more minutes._

“Would you mind taking a picture of us?” she asks, handing her phone to Jorge with so much haste that she almost lets it slip through her shaking fingers.

“I’d be delighted!”

Telling them to smile, he quickly takes the picture and hands the phone back to her. There’s a photo of a beagle puppy as wallpaper and Aleix beams when he notices it, asking the girl if it belongs to her. Grinning even more (Jorge didn’t think it would be possible without physically dislocating her jaw) she nods and they start talking as if the two of them were old friends. Lorenzo is rolling his eyes in disbelief when someone rests a hand on his arm, starting him. Standing beside him, there’s a second girl, tall, lean and with bright fuchsia hair who is staring at her friend with an expression that is both amused and annoyed at the same time.

“Sorry about that” she says jerking her chin toward the other girl with a wry smile “sometimes she gets a tad… overenthusiastic.”

“I kinda noticed.”

“I’ll try to drag her away but it’s not going to be easy. I just hope we didn’t ruin your date.”

 _Girl you have no idea, wait-what??_ Jorge feels his face heat up when he realizes what the young girl just said and she pats him reassuringly on the arm before walking toward her friend.

“Come on, leave these poor guys to their dinner… you know as well as I do that cold pizza sucks!”

It takes a long moment before the other girl pays attention (albeit very reluctantly) to her, friend, but eventually she nods and collects her scrap of paper, thanking them. Aleix waves a hand as the girl turns to look back at them then he sits down again, leaning toward Jorge.

“I can’t believe she didn’t recognize you!” he complains in a low voice, shooting the girl an affronted look while helping himself to another slice of pizza from Jorge’s plate (the cheese it’s turning into a congealed blob so the other man doesn’t complain this time) “Anything I can do to help you overcome the disappointment?”

_You could kiss me. I’d definitely feel better._

“You could start by offering me dessert, for example…”

***

There’s no dessert on the menu that Jorge wants (and he’s also aware that he’s supposed to follow a strict diet on the evening before a race), so Aleix offers him a _gelato_ as they walk along the large promenade by the sea. There’s nothing even remotely romantic in that stroll because the whole street is crowded with people and the ice cream shop they stop at is even more so. A bunch of kids surround Jorge as he waits for his turn, screaming in excitement. One of them is wearing a yellow cap with a very large 46 embroidered on the front and he’s constantly stepping on the Spaniard’s toes as he runs back and forth, unable to decide which flavours he wants.  
When the kid trips over his own feet and sends his newly acquired ice cream cone splatting all over the floor, Jorge feels someone grab his arm. Aleix casts him an amused sideways glance as he juggles his cup of _granita_ and tugs his friend away before he can even begin to gloat at the wailing child (not that Jorge would ever do that!).

“Do you want to call a taxi?” asks Espargaró as he disentangles himself from his hold with a chuckle that sends a shiver down the other man’s spine.

Jorge shrugs.

“It’s still early, I don’t mind walking…”

“Okay.”

“And, who knows, we might even bump into another fan of yours.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Lorenzo shakes his head and laughs softly at the affronted look.

“You looked really surprised, when that girl recognized you, I mean…”

“I was.”

“I’m pretty sure you must have signed autographs before.” 

Aleix frowns, scratching his forehead as if that gesture might help him to find a way to explain something complicated.

“You see…” he says eventually “the fact is that I’m still Pol’s brother”

Jorge looks at him, blinking.

“When people ask me things, it is usually about the other Espargaró” he explains, then he shrugs his shoulders with a wry smile “but don’t get me wrong! I really didn’t mean to sound bitter, I’m glad Polyccio is doing so well…”

“You’re doing well too” Jorge reminds him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it gently. And if his fingers linger a moment too much, Lorenzo tells himself that it is just because he wants his friend to know that he understands the feeling. 

“Thanks. It’s nice to hear that from somebody who actually cares.”

***

They end up sitting on the couch in Jorge’s motorhome to watch a cheep superhero movie with badly out of sync subtitles. Not that the Spaniard had that particular scenario in mind as he opened his mouth to thank the other man for the nice evening and wish him good night. Somehow, a mutinous part of his brain had managed to turn that perfect sentence into an unexpected (and treacherous) ‘would you like to come in? We can watch a movie’. Espargaró had nodded, telling him to feel free to kick him out whenever he felt like it, as he sat down on the couch with a leg curled under him and the other stretched out on a chair. This time no one falls asleep because they’re too busy questioning major plot holes and making disparaging comments about the main character running around for no apparent reason. Aleix complains several times (at least a dozen, Jorge kind of loses tracks after that) about the lack of popcorns and he reminds him of the shortcoming even as he’s about to leave.

“Thanks for the movie” he says as he steps outside, “of course it would have been a lot better with…”

“Popcorns, I know” Jorge sighs, shooting an annoyed look at his friend “If I promise to buy you some next time, will you shut up about it?”

Aleix nods and mimics zipping his lips shut.

“Then I definitely will”

“Cool. I guess it’s a date!”

The other man exclaims with a grin as he wishes him good night, blissfully unaware of the startled expression on Jorge’s face as his face flushes a deep scarlet red. Because yes, dinner and a movie, isn’t that what a date it is usually made of?

“I guess it is” Lorenzo tells himself as he stares at the closed door for a very long time, before resting his forehead on the smooth wooden surface with a sigh.

_What am I getting myself into?_

It takes him a long time to understand that he has no good answer to that question yet.

 

END OF PART 1


	2. All I need a (super)hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night, popcorns and superheroes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not beated, English is still not my mother tongue

This time, Aleix shows up for their date (although Jorge still flat-out refuses to call it so) with a big bag of popcorns that he rattles in front of the Mallorcan, before stepping inside. 

“In case you forgot” he tells him as he stands in the middle of the motorhome.

Snorting, Jorge taps a finger on the small, brightly coloured box that he’s trying to rip open and casts a smug look at his friend.

“Overachiever” Espargaró says, shaking his head in amusement at the family pack of microwave popcorns “but I guess one doesn’t win four world championships without planning everything down to the last detail…”

Lorenzo just rolls his eyes and tosses the other man one of the bags, pointing at the kitchenette.

“Go make yourself useful” he orders with a grin.

“Yes, boss” Aleix mumbles as he struggles with the plastic overwrap and eventually decides to use his teeth to tear it apart “your motorhome is going to smell like a second-rate cinema for the rest of the weekend!”

“If it keeps you from bitching about the lack of junk food then I definitely can live with that!”

The other man doesn’t answer as he stares intently at the bag going round and round on the turntable plate, grinning as the first kernels pop loudly.

***

“So, what are we watching tonight?” Espargaró asks, flopping down gracelessly on the couch and leaving enough room between the two of them to place the bowl filled with steaming popcorns. 

“How about the Avengers?”

“Cool” the Spaniard approves, digging his hand into the popcorns without averting his eyes from Jorge’s flat screen TV “I love superhero movies. Everything in there is so… uncomplicated.”

Lorenzo nods. _Man, you have no idea_ , he thinks idly, because in a superhero movie _maybe_ his crush on the other man would have a chance to turn into something real within the next two hours. _Who am I kidding, I’d probably be the only idiot who mustn’t reveal his secret identity and ends up spending his Saturday evenings either saving the world or playing dumb video games on his Playstation!_

They’re almost through the first half of the film when Jorge notices that his friend is staring at him with a pensive gaze, the half empty beer bottle hanging loosely in his hands and his brow creased in thought. 

“What?”

He asks, feeling more than a little self-conscious under the silent scrutiny and rubbing the back of his head to give his hands something to do.

“I was thinking that Marquez would make an excellent Loki.”

Lorenzo blinks and stares at the other man. Because of all the things that Aleix could have said (and there’s plenty of them), this one is so random, so out of the blue that it takes him completely by surprise. But once the thought takes root in his brain, well, it’s really hard not to agree with his fellow Spaniard. Jorge tries to picture Marc wearing a long leather coat and nods with a chuckle, because the similarities are definitely all there.

“You would be Thor, instead.”

“Wait, that would make him my…”

“Brother, yeah.”

“Adopted brother, if you please” clarifies Lorenzo, shaking his head in denial “and Thor is boring so if you don’t mind I’d rather be Iron Man.”

“You are no Tony Stark, Jorge” Aleix tells him with a wry grin “plus, one of your nicknames is _martillo_ and Thor just happens to have Mjolnir.”

“Oh. Sure, I guess.”

_Great, he’s basically telling me that I can’t be the only really cool character in the movie_ , muses the Spaniard as he tries to hide his disappointment reaching for the bowl and slowly munching a few popcorns, _no big deal. I can live with that. This movie night thing was a terrible idea, whose fault is that, anyway?_

“First of all you’re not loud or irritating enough” Espargaró explains with a playful shrug “and, let’s face it, you might have the money, but your ego is just not big enough for you to be a genius, a billionaire, a playboy and a philanthropist at the same time… we need someone whose ambition outweighs his own talent for the part!”

“Vale” Lorenzo laughs, feeling suddenly light-hearted (and also like a complete idiot) “will this make Casey, Hawkeye?”

“Well, he’s the only person I know who is more deadly with a bow than Katniss Everdeen…”

Jorge looks at him with a quirked eyebrow and Aleix has the good grace to blush.

“I have a teen sister, I know everything there is to know about the Hunger Games trilogy.” 

“Teen sister, yeah right…”

“Anyway… good luck keeping Vale and Casey from killing one another!”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“What superhero are you going to be?”

Espargaró shrugs one shoulder as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“Oh, I’ll just be a Barça football player, thank you very much.”

“Great” Jorge makes a face, clearly not impressed with the choice “couldn’t you be someone I won’t have to rescue before the movie is over?”

“Are you calling me a damsel in distress?” Aleix tilts his head, casting him a coy glance that sends the other man into a fit of giggles “but please, feel free to use all the clichés that you want!”

“Well, you know as well as I do how these things go…”

“I don’t see why Loki could possibly decide to kidnap me… especially if he wants his favourite team to stand a chance of winning the next Champions League!”

“Have you noticed how he could do all sorts of evil things and yet people would find him irresistible and adore him all the same?”

Espargaró casts him a knowing look.

“We’re still talking about movie-Loki, right?”

Jorge grins but he does not really answer the question.

***

Deciding that Nicky is Captain America and that Cal is definitely the Hulk is not a hard task at all, while the Black Widow needs a bit more planning, especially because of the unfortunate lack of female drivers in motogp.

“I’d go with Randy” Aleix says half-heartedly, focusing his attention on Scarlett Johansson as she vaults around the screen carrying all sorts of weapons and generally kicking alien asses.

“Randy?”

“Because he’s short and pretty” he explains, gesturing vaguely with the bottle he still holds in his hand.

Jorge looks at him with raised eyebrows. Did his friend just say that he finds his teammate pretty? And, okay, he really can’t blame him for this, because the Frenchman is not exactly hard on the eyes, but still… does Aleix really think that De Puniet is attractive? Lorenzo doesn’t know if he should feel happy about this sudden revelation or jealous and scratches his forehead in frustration.

Espargaró just casts him a curious look, frowning as he notices the other man’s absent-minded expression.

“Listen, it’s not my fault if I don’t get which special abilities she’s supposed to have!”

“Neither do I” Lorenzo shrugs his shoulders “So let’s stick to Randy being pretty and with him as the Black Widow our team of superheroes is finally complete…”

Somewhere on the couch, Aleix’s phone buzzes softly and the Spaniard glances down in time to catch a glimpse of the message flashing on the screen.

“Pol?” Jorge inquires as he reaches for the last popcorns in the bowl, stuffing them into his mouth.

Shaking his head, the other man carelessly drops his phone back on the cushions once again.

“Albert” he says briefly as he focuses back on the TV screen where the Avengers, together at last, are saving (or maybe razing to the ground, the Spaniard finds it really hard to tell the difference) New York City from Loki and a swarm of alien invaders. “I’m on a date, my brother knows better than to bother me unless it’s a matter of life and death…”

Lorenzo chokes as the stupid popcorns go down the wrong way and starts coughing. Aleix casts him a sideways glance that manages to be both worried and amused at the same time and rubs his left shoulder in a soothing gesture.

“Are you dying?” he asks him with the outmost seriousness.

Jorge can only wheeze a little and shake his head as tears roll slowly down his face.

“Do you want me to call a doctor? It would be very embarrassing but I can do that…”

Once again the Mallorcan shakes his head and tries to glare at the other man as the coughing fit begins to subside.

“Good” Aleix says with a small grin and a final encouraging pat on the shoulder “because I really wanted to watch the end of the movie.”

“Please, tell me that you didn’t do that…” Lorenzo finally manages to gasp.

“Didn’t do what?”

“Tell Pol that we had a date!”

“Relax… he was going out with Carlota, I could have told him that you kissed me or that I plan on quitting motogp to join a boy band and he still would not have heard a single word that came out of my mouth!”

Jorge takes a deep, calming breath, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“You know that moment… the one when you find yourself held at gunpoint by Loki’s henchmen on the edge of a cliff, yes? Well, don’t count on my help to get out of troubles!”

“Aren’t you superheroes supposed to have a moral code or something?”

“You’re right” the other man concedes sweetly “I’ll rescue your sorry ass and then I’ll find a way to get you transferred to Real Madrid forever… how does that sound to you?”

“You wouldn’t!” Aleix gasps, clutching his chest in mock horror “Maybe it’s you who should play the evil villain, not poor Marc…”

Jorge just snorts at the suggestion. There is silence for a moment and then Espargaró sighs.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to upset you” Aleix says softly “you should know by now that I probably talk way too much!”

The other man shrugs with a wry smile.

“It’s okay, you just took me by surprise and I overreacted.”

“I really wasn’t trying to imply anything. I’m sorry if you got this impression.”

“I know.”

“Jorge?”

“Yes?”

Aleix bites his lower lip, but he doesn’t add anything as he stares fixedly at the other man. But before the Mallorcan can speak, Espargaró sighs and shakes his head.

“Nothing” he says “is there something I can do make amends?”

“Well you could always be my sidekick…”

And if there is a slight faltering before that _sidekick_ , as if the word that Jorge had really wanted to use was another, well, the Mallorcan won’t dwell too much on that. At least not until he’s alone and he can slam his head against the wall in frustration. He’s royally screwed here, Lorenzo realizes suddenly, because this is no longer a harmless crush. He’s falling for this adorable idiot sitting beside him and he doubts that he can afford the luxury.

“I will if you do something for me in return…”

“What do you want me to do?” Jorge asks suspiciously. _Please, ask me to be honest with you. Let’s both lay our cards on the table once and for all_ , he thinks, an odd mixture of dread and anticipation twisting lazily in his stomach like a snake.

Grabbing the empty bowl, Aleix dumps it carelessly on the small table beside the couch and draws closer. Grinning, he leans over to whisper something in Jorge’s ear. Since they are completely alone, all that secrecy is probably needless, but Lorenzo can’t bring himself to point that out. Not when the other man is a warm weight resting against his side and he can feel the smile on the lips brushing against his ear.

“You’re crazy” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief “I’ll do it.”

And if the following day at the _parc fermé_ Jorge compliments Marc on his victory patting his back and calling him Loki no one seems to notice that. _Totally worth it_ , he thinks as Aleix slides past him on his way to the outcast corner reserved for CRTs and casts him a huge grin. _And in the end, superheroes always get what they want, anyway._

END OF CHAPTER 2


	3. Aleix in wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain. Sushi. Awkward conversations on a lift. Just an average Saturday evening for Jorge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say... not beated so I'm really sorry for the weird English!

Chapter 3 – Aleix in Wonderland

 _But maybe the rain_  
Isn’t really to blame  
So I’ll remove the cause  
But not the symptom  
**The Rocky Horror Picture Show**

*******

“So… what are you doing tonight?” 

The question takes Jorge by surprise as Cal ambushes him the very moment he steps out of the small room hosting the mandatory post qualifying press conference. No _hi_ or _how’s it going_ , just that all-too-casual inquiry that makes the Spaniard more than a little apprehensive.

“Nothing” he replies warily “I’m watching a movie with Aleix…”

“Cool” the Brit approves with a satisfied nod “at what time?”

 _No, no, no_ thinks the Mallorcan as he desperately tries to come up with something that won’t sound like an excuse. But since he cannot tell the other man that he has a date (because he doesn’t!), his opportunities are sadly limited and all he can think of is a trite _you just got married, what would your wife say that you’re neglecting her already?_ And then he remembers that Cal told him that Lucy is still at home in the UK and she’s not going to arrive until the end of the next week in Philip Island. 

“At nine o’clock, but…”

“Great!” the other man says “Nine o’clock sounds perfect!”

“What happens at nine o’clock?” asks Valentino, as he stops signing autographs to the Malaysian fans crowding around him and turns to look at them, eyes gleaming in the light of a hundred camera flashes. 

_Cal, I beg of you, don’t do this to me! I swear I’ll hate you forever!_

“We’re watching a film in Jorge’s suite, why don’t you join us?”

“I have nothing better to do so I might as well come.”

“But…” 

Jorge lets the sentence trail off because the others are not listening to him anymore. As he leaves, he can hear his team-mate extending the invitation to Dani and sighs, so much for his quiet evening with Aleix!

Before nine o’clock, that same invitation has spread through the paddock like wildfire and at least half of the motogp riders (along with a few people from other classes) shows up, more or less on time, in front of his hotel suite. 

And if the Mallorcan couldn’t spare a single moment during the day to let the older Espargaró know of the change of plans, it is definitely because he’s a very busy man and not a coward.

*******

The heated argument between the _Pacific Rim_ supporters and those who’d rather watch _the Conjuring_ has been going on for ten endless minutes when Jorge hears someone knocking. Heaving a sigh, the Spaniard heads for the door (fully expecting the room service guy) so he’s rather taken aback when he comes vis-à-vis with both Espargaró brothers instead.

“What is he doing here?” he asks, jerking his head at Pol, standing beside his sibling with his arms folded across his chest and a grim look on his face.

“What are THEY doing here?” Aleix answers back, waving a hand at the chorus of voices coming from the room. 

“Cal invited himself over… and brought half of the paddock along with him!”

“You could have told them we had a date…”

“Well, you could have told HIM we had a date!”

“I did” Aleix shrugs, offering a small grin that sends butterflies fluttering madly around the other man’s stomach “why do you think he’s here?”

“What happened to _he’s going out with Carlota so I could tell him that Jorge kissed me and he wouldn’t hear a word of it?_ ”

“Believe it or not, there are tiny, irrelevant things that I seem to notice even when my girlfriend is around” Pol grumbles sourly “and you kissing my brother is definitely one of them!”

“But I didn’t…”

The younger Espargaró scoffs and gives Lorenzo a withering look as he brushes past the other man and then turns to make a two fingers gesture to him that clearly means _I’m watching you_. 

Jorge rolls his eyes and places a hand on Aleix’s shoulder, gently pushing him into the room.

*******

The hotel suite has turned into some kind of refugee camp since someone decided to drag the big couch and every available chair in front of the bed to create an impromptu home theatre. Alvaro, Scott and Jack are sitting on the luxurious pile carpet discussing today’s qualifying session, while behind them Cal lounges on the couch, tossing cheese puffs at Bradley. The mini-bar in the kitchenette has been ransacked and his door hangs now open like a giant gaping mouth, displaying the lonely bag of wasabi peanuts in it. Empty beer bottles pile up in the trashcan or lay discarded on every available surface, waiting for the waiter to collect them as he brings supplies from the kitchen. 

Jorge just stands there, surveying the room as he wearily rubs his forehead. This is definitely not what he had in mind as he planned the evening and he finds it painfully ironic that people who barely hang out together during a normal racing weekend would choose today of all days to get friendly. 

Aleix nudges him in the ribs, startling him out of his gloomy thoughts.

“What do you say if we get out of here?” he softly asks Jorge.

“Oh God, yes!”

The Spaniard gives the other man a grateful look, slightly surprised that Aleix has noticed his discomfort. From the couch, Cal stares inquisitively at them and opens his mouth to say something (probably something that will draw everyone’s attention to them, effectively putting an end to their escape). But before he can speak, there’s a loud crash coming from the kitchenette where Ricky has just dropped a pile of plates on the floor, shattering at least half of them. Someone yells mazel tov and Jorge rolls his eyes at the sheepish grin that his best friend casts him, then Ricky shrugs and bends to retrieve the shards scattered all around him.

“Okay” the Mallorcan grasps Aleix by the arm and begins dragging him away “let’s get out of here before Ricky has time to cut off a finger and bleed to death all over the floor!”

 *******  
They find a small restaurant, a nice place in a quiet, suburban street lined with palm trees not too far from the airport and the huge hotels surrounding it. There’s a secluded garden with red flowers creeping up the patio trellis that they have all by themselves (Jorge suspects it might be because of the mosquitoes descending on them en masse). It’s pretty and peaceful, which is a pleasant contrast with the chaos in his hotel suite and food is very good. They’re halfway through it, chatting idly when a single lightning flickers across the sky followed by a roaring thunder. Aleix looks at him with a frown that turns into a yelp as the monsoon starts pouring down on them, so sudden and cold that for a very long moment they even forget to move…

“I’m really sorry for the lousy evening” Jorge says as he casts a disgusted look at the small puddle of water forming around his feet as they wait for the lift to arrive. 

He doesn’t need to turn to know that the impeccable lady at the reception is still staring at them. She hadn’t batted an eye as they came bolting through the door and her expression of mild empathy never wavered, not even when Aleix shook his head in his best Pippa impersonation, shedding droplets everywhere. But he can feel her disapproving gaze at the back of his head now, as she studies the crazy tourists leaving a trail of water all over her expensive looking carpet.

“I know” the other man answers as he glances down at his bare foot (he lost one of his flip-flops during their hasty flight back to the hotel) with an amused chuckle “I swear I lost count of how many times you apologized!”

“Yes, but…”

“Jorge, is there a way I can convince you that I really don’t mind?” Aleix offers his friend a pat on the arm as the lift doors slide open in front of them “it’s not your fault and the sushi was excellent…”

Chuckling, the Mallorcan shakes his head and presses the button to the nineteenth floor. Dull background music fills the cabin as the lift slowly begins to go up.

“I wonder if they even noticed that we have disappeared…”

“Probably not.”

“I guess Cal was feeling lonely without Lucy around… only I didn’t think he felt so lonely that he would invite everyone he could get a hold of!”

“Well, you could always use this to your advantage…”

Jorge glances at him, forehead creasing in a puzzled frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you noticed who wasn’t there tonight?”

“Marc?”

“Bingo. He’ll probably think that you didn’t invite on purpose… I mean, even his team-mate was there and Dani is not exactly a party animal!”

“You are a bloody genius!”

 _And gorgeous… and wearing wet clothes. And no, Jorge, you’d better not go there_.

“I know” Aleix casts him a smug grin “I guess this is why you have a crush on me, huh?”

The Mallorcan nods absently. 

It takes a few, precious seconds before his brain catches up with what the other man just said and the fact that he has just agreed to it. His eyes fix on Aleix, hoping that he doesn’t look as shocked as he’s feeling right now.

 _What was that?_ Jorge thinks, trying to keep his panic at bay. Because he can swear that they had been talking about Marquez, _so why does it feel like I just walked through a huge revolving door and I stepped out into an alternate universe?_

Espargaró heaves a small sigh, but he doesn’t say anything as he looks at him with his head cocked to one side. _Ball is in your court_ , that unnerving silence seems to mean and Jorge knows that this is it… this is the moment cards are finally on the table and there’s no way he can bluff his way out.

“I though you wouldn’t notice…”

“Oh, you were discreet, if this is what you’re worried about” 

“Then how…”

“You were discreet “Aleix repeats “your best friend not so much!”

What has Ricky got to do with this? He’s the only person he confided in, the only one he told about his crush on the other man and he has sworn he would keep the secret. And yet at the earliest opportunity, he just couldn’t keep his big mouth shut for more than five minutes and he had to tell this to Aleix, no less!

“I’m going to kill that bastard!” he growls, fuming as he stares at the numbers chasing one another in a frustratingly slow progression on the lift display panel: fifteenth floor, four more to go before he can actually throttle his so-called best friend. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud bang and the lift shudders, lurching to a halt. Aleix is looking at him with a hand resting on the stop button where he has just slammed it.

“Now that I have your attention” he says, his tone laced with sarcasm as he gives the other man a pointed look “do you think we can have this conversation like two responsible adults?”

“Said the man who just-” 

“Shut the fuck up, Jorge.”

The Spaniard opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. Because he knows that _partly-amused-but-mostly-annoyed_ tone only too well. It is the same tone that Aleix sometimes uses with Pol and that (almost) never fails to shut the younger Espargaró up because it clearly means _no bullshit_ and you’d be a fool not to heed the warning.

“Ricky told me because I asked him, okay?” Espargaró explains as he glances at the intercom, half expecting some kind of reprimand from the lady at the reception “I couldn’t decide whether it was just wishful thinking on my part or if you really liked me… so I thought that he could clue me in before I made a fool of myself! Man, you have no idea how much I had to nag him before he actually talked. I was beginning to think that I might have to torture him to get some information out of him…”

Lorenzo gives him a tight smile at this, but his displeasure is still evident in the stiff set of his jaw.

“Jorge, Ricky is your best friend and he was just trying to help. So please, don’t murder him… I need my new rider alive and well!”

“Your WHAT?”

“Huh yeah, I’m planning to hire him for my Moto2 team in the CEV next season, but I told him I’m on a limited budget so he’s not allowed to crash…”

“Good luck with that!”

“You should be happy for him.”

The Mallorcan shakes his head with a weary sigh. 

“Aleix, I’m not sure this is a good idea…”

“Why not? I assure you that Ricky is a very talented rider.”

“I wasn’t talking about him…”

“I know” Espargaró replies somewhat tartly “you like me, I obviously like you… what’s the problem?”

 _What’s the problem, indeed?_ Jorge asks himself, not for the first time, _none whatsoever… except, what will the consequences be if someone finds out about us?_

“If this comes out… what do think people will say?”

“Congratulations?”

The Mallorcan snorts as he shakes his head, looking at the other man in amazement and thinking that he’d give anything to live in the same wonderland Aleix obviously lives in. Because things look so damn easy down that rabbit-hole and people will be actually supporting instead of using this to their advantage (like he has no doubt that Valentino would do in a heartbeat if it meant gaining the upper hand in the team). And Jorge can’t afford that to happen, he cannot put his career (their careers) at risk when he’s fighting tooth and nail to win the championship.

“Be serious!”

“Jorge” the other man sighs and gives him a steady look “I am serious. At the end of the day, it’s none of their business… so why do you suddenly care so much about what other people think? I find it very unlikely that no one has been screwing around with a fellow driver before!”

“Probably” his back resting against the cabin, Lorenzo casts him a speculative look “is this what you think it is?”

Aleix groans in frustration. 

“God Jorge, if I did I’m pretty sure we would be in bed right now instead of having this awkward conversation! But unless you’re planning to propose or kiss me in front of the cameras in the park ferme, no one will actually notice a thing if we are extra careful…”

“You can be very persuasive” the Mallorcan says with a tired smile “you must have thought about this a lot…”

“I had plenty of time on my hands as I waited for you to make up your mind and grow a pair…” Aleix snorts, running a hand through his wet hair.

“I really need time to think about this…”

The other man stares at him, biting the inside of his cheek. He looks disappointed, but he gives him a curt nod and a shrug as he hits the lift button to the nineteenth floor once again. For a moment nothing happens (and _wouldn’t it be just grand if we were stuck in here for hours?_ Jorge thinks with a tinge of unease mixed with excitement) but then the lift purrs to life and begins his journey up as if nothing had happened.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“I don’t know. Eventually…”

“Nah, you probably thought I wouldn’t notice a thing, so it would be safe for you to go on and have your harmless little crush on me” the other man says with a shake of his head “I can’t say I understand, but that’s okay… can I ask you something, though? If we weren’t, you know, famous… would you still have to ‘think about this’?”

When Jorge shakes his head, Aleix sighs wearily.

“I guess there is no way I can compete with a motogp title” he says bitterly “take all the time you need, although I think we both know what your answer is going to be.”

Aleix concludes as he pats the other man’s shoulder and steps out of the lift without so much as a backward glance. Pressing the palms of his hands against his forehead, the Mallorcan sighs as he feels his shoulder slump in defeat.

 _He’s right, isn’t he?_ He thinks, _I was so sure that he was straight and he wouldn’t notice. I even told Ricky about this (okay, he laughed at me when I did it, but he’s never serious so I didn’t think he knew something I didn’t). It felt perfectly harmless… I could have my little crush because I knew nothing could happen, only this is no longer a crush…_

Jorge slams his fist into the lift’s wall, growling in frustration.

“Is everything okay, sir?” a disembodied voice coming from the intercom inquires softly.

“No” says the Mallorcan, storming out of the lift “I’m the biggest idiot on Earth!”

END OF CHAPTER 3


	4. Discretion is the better part of valour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual not betaed, so... yeah, I shall apply the usual warning: weird English, wild commas... that sort of things.

Pol takes the plastic key out of his pocket and hands it to his brother without even looking at him. He’s in the middle of a game of Fifa 14 against Bradley and he’s winning, so he cannot allow the Brit to counter-attack. The film has been over for quite some time now and the room is almost empty except for the two players, Cal looking at them and Ricky curled up on the couch fast asleep.

“I’m going to bed…” Aleix says.

An absent _huh-huh_ and a dismissive wave of the hand is all he gets from Pol. Crutchlow turns to look at him with a puzzled frown, but his eyes snaps back to the TV as Bradley hits the crossbar and lets out a string of curses.

Shaking his head, Espargaró is about to leave as Jorge gets into the room and glances around, grimacing at the chaos of empty bottles and plates piling up everywhere.

“Goodnight” mumbles Aleix as he brushes past him.

“Don’t go. Please.”

The Mallorcan says and to hell if his voice sounds pleading, he thinks, as he grasps Aleix’s hand in his. There’s a soft gasp as his countryman looks down and Jorge can feel the nervous trembling in the cold fingers trapped in his. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I want to give this thing a go. You’ll have to be patient because I’ll probably find reasons to freak out or act like a fool, but… I just couldn’t let you walk away!”

The smile Aleix casts him is so bright that for a very long moment Jorge forgets that he is actually supposed to breathe.

“Jorge Lorenzo,” Espargaró tells him with a fond shake of his head “you’re such a drama queen!”

“Don’t’ make me regret this…”

“We’ll make it work” the other man says, dead serious for once, as he gives the fingers intertwined with his a gentle squeeze “one step at a time… and see where it leads us, okay?”

Jorge takes a deep breath and he’s about to utter something incredibly soppy like _I really want to kiss you_ , when a hand lands on his shoulder, startling him.

“You guys should have told me you had a date.”

Crutchlow tells them with a sly grin, his grey eyes twinkling mischievously as he glances from one man to the other, but before anyone has time to answer, the Brit turns back towards the centre of the room and shouts:

“Come on kids, time to give the grown-ups some alone time!”

“Cal…” Jorge finally finds his voice, hissing a warning.

“I would suggest you to get a room, but it seems to me that you already have one…”

Aleix grins at this and Jorge thinks _to hell_ , as he lets go of the other man’s hand only to wrap an arm loosely around his waist in a possessive gesture. Espargaró gives him a sideways glance as the Brit chortles, shaking his head in disbelief. But in spite of the teasing that will undoubtedly follow, they both know that Cal will keep his mouth shut about this.

Bradley shuffles past them waving goodbye (too pleased with his last-minute goal to notice anything else), while Pol switches the TV off with a disgusted sigh and guides a yawning Ricky towards the door.

“Oh, you’re still here” he says as he notices his brother “you didn’t need to wait for me…”

“I wasn’t.”

Only then Pol sees the still dripping clothes that Aleix is wearing (but nothing else because they’re standing very close and Jorge has moved his hand on the other man’s lower back).

“You’re soaked to the bone!”

“Yes, it’s raining outside…”

“What the hell were you doing outside if it is raining?”

“Young Espargaró” Cal intervenes with an eye roll that sends Ricky into a fit of laughter “off to bed… _a dormir_ or however you say that in Spanish… you be good and our friend Cardús here will read you a nice bedtime story.”

“Yeah, but…”

The Brit just makes a shooing gesture, effectively pushing both Pol and Ricky out of the doorway and into the corridor.

“I’ll just help Jorge to tidy up …” says Aleix, letting his words trail into silence, very much aware that this must sound like the weakest excuse ever.

“But your clothes are wet, you’re going to…”

“Oh, I seriously doubt we’ll need any.” 

Jorge cuts Pol short, secretly relishing the moment understanding dawns on the young man before he slams the door shut in his face. Muffled by the heavy wood panel, they can still hear Ricky as he bursts out laughing and Cal who is repeating _qué? qué?_ like a baby duck desperately in need of a translation.

“What?” the Mallorcan asks sweetly as he gives an innocent look at the other man staring at him with both hands on his hips “you know it’s true!”

“What happened to discretion?”

“He’s your brother, someone needed to break the news to him” Jorge nods to himself “and do not act as if you wouldn’t have let the secret out first thing in the morning…” 

“He’s SO going to kill you!”

The other man shrugs, clearly feeling no remorse whatsoever for the shock he caused Pol, but double-locking the door anyway.

“If there is someone else who should know about this… please tell me now”

Aleix pretends to think about it as he gives Jorge his best Cheshire cat’s grin.

“Well, there’s Colin…”

“Why would I possibly want to tell that crazy Texan?”

“Because he’s going to be my team-mate and he’s bound to get suspicious. And also because he keeps a flame thrower in his living-room…”

Jorge looks at him, certain that the other man is making fun of him, but then he remembers Colin Edwards chasing robbers around the paddock armed with a baseball bat and makes a face.

“I already have your brother to worry about and you’re telling me that I have to ask your team-mate for permission to date you… I’m not sure it’s fair!”  
  
“Just think of them if plan to break my tender little heart…”  
  
"Quit talking," Jorge grasps a handful of Aleix’s t-shirt, nervous fingers clenching the wet fabric to pull the other man closer, "I'm going to kiss you now." He warns softly before leaning in to brush their lips together. The kiss is light and a bit uncertain, not because Jorge does not know what he’s doing (because he definitely does), but because this is real, it is actually happening and there is no turning back. Aleix pulls back and looks at him, a hand still curled loosely on Jorge’s hip, his head cocked to the side.  
  
“See. It wasn’t that bad, was it?” He says with a wide smile, his brown eyes locked with Jorge’s. And whether he’s talking about the kiss or the whole situation, the other man can’t tell, nor does he particularly care.  
  
“Shut up!”  
  
“Make me.”  
  
Grinning, Jorge is more than ready to accept the challenge. 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow, I actually managed to finish this! It's so strange to think that when I posted chapter two I was on vacation getting all relaxed and suntanned and now it's almost Christmas...

**Author's Note:**

> And now a moth landed on me... seriously, it's really tough to work like this! *g*


End file.
